


What the Seer Saw

by sock_bealady



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Bargaining, F/M, Gap Filler, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sock_bealady/pseuds/sock_bealady
Summary: A gapfiller for 2x12 "The Hail Mary."  In the wake of Alex's death, Claire can only protect Mary by betraying Jamie.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains non-explicit references to past (canonical) non-con and its aftermath as well as brief on-screen sexual assault.

I found Jack Randall in a room adjoining his brother's. It clearly was not arranged for guests--the narrow bed was stripped to air out and only blackened stubs remained in the candlesticks--but someone had provided an ewer of fresh water. Randall was washing his hands in it, slowly and methodically.

I observed, unnoticed, from my place at the door. The light from the hallway was just enough to catch the water and make the red of Alex's blood shine like ruby. Jack's head was bowed and his hands did not tremble, but there was an exaggerated slowness in his movements, like a dancer practicing the same steps over and over. It was one of a myriad of signs of a man dissociated from his surroundings.

I was struck, incongruously and for the first time, with a flash of true empathy for Black Jack. I'd seen this before, after all, more times than I could count: battle fatigue. It'd seen it in my own time in boys recently back from the front and, increasingly, in Prince Charlie's camps among the veterans of our summer campaign. What was less spoken of was all the other places and times where it occurred. The girls in white aprons, splattered with blood and crying in corridors or outside field tents, the surgeons sitting alone on their cots simply staring into space, my own haggard hand clutching a bottle on V-E Day. Nursing was a kind of war, with death the bloodiest defeat, and the scars it left were real, if invisible.

For a man like Jack Randall, well-accustomed to his own power and out of practice with caring for people, Alex's death might be a mortal wound.

I steeled myself. I was not here for Jack, after all. Any attempts to engage him with compassion as a human being had, thus far, only been met with pain for me and mine. There was nothing I could do, really, for this broken bastard of a man. I was here because I needed something from him.

I cleared my throat as softly as I could. He spun, the whites of his eyes showing like a cornered animal, then turned away again. When he turned to face me again, his face was again set in an expressionless mask, with not a hair out of place. I gave him a nod which carried no judgment and stepped over the threshold.

He spoke first, his voice a touch gravelly but otherwise composed. "I thought you would be gone by now, Mistress Fraser."

I didn't miss how, even in this state, his tongue lingered a little over Jamie's name. I held myself straight--corsets, it turns out, are wonderful for that sort of thing--and lifted my chin ever so slightly. Some part of me was acutely aware of the fact that I was alone in a bedchamber with a known torturer and rapist, and that I was about to make him very angry. My face did not show it. It had been a long time since I'd listened to that kind of fear.

"I think that Mary should stay with me tonight." I spoke the words calmly and without a touch of condemnation. I was a little proud, really, of how well I managed it.

Of his many possible responses, Black Jack took a moment to settle on incredulity. His eyebrows lifted over a furrowed brow. "Got designs of your own on her, have you?"

My eyes narrowed and it was no struggle to make my voice very cold. "Hardly." There was no reason to follow that statement with anything. I could hardly conceal my motives from Randall, after all, nor should I want to.

He studied me a moment longer, then heaved a sigh of put-upon outrage. "Is there nothing you won't seek to take from me, woman? You all but arranged this marriage, and now you wish to deny me my wedding night as well?"

I pursed my lips and gave him a disapproving look. "You are not yourself." I needn't add that if he _were_ himself I would be twice as concerned. He knew that much already and did not need to hear it said.

His face remained a cool, vaguely polite mask. "From whence comes this sudden concern for the girl? You cared little enough when you sent my brother away." The tone was pleasant enough, but the words were a stinging reminder that I had hurt someone dear to him--perhaps the only person he'd cared about in the world. He meant to see me pay for that.

"She is my friend," I answered evenly and with conviction, "And you gave him your word that you would protect and look after her. I'm only trying to help you do that."

"You realize you put her marriage in jeopardy? How is she to access my pension if it comes out that our union was never consummated?"

"You can be with her tomorrow night, if she is willing."

He glanced, significantly, at the clock on the mantle. "Can I? Or would that make me late for my appointment?"

We were both silent for a moment, though I never took my eyes off of him. "Don't you think I can wish to be wrong?" I asked finally. I knew he would never understand my anguish, but I needed to say these words to someone and it might as well be him. "Don't you think that, just once, I might wish to be wrong about what I know?"

His lips drew together, coldly. "I would believe a great many things about you, madam, but I will never believe that you _wish_ me to draw a single breath past April the sixteenth, nineteen hundred and forty-six."

The date held the cold echo of my own voice, meant to haunt his dreams. It seemed I had succeeded. I lifted my head a little higher, refusing to feel remorse. "Alex didn't know much about you, did he? He idolized you as only a younger brother can. But, Mary will know better, if you try to take her tonight."

His lips were now pressed in a hard line, white with suppressed rage. "Madam," he said in a dangerously soft tone, "Your potions eased him somewhat, so I have shown much restraint. But if you speak my brother's name again, not even his memory will stay me from my wrath."

He meant those words. I nodded slightly in acknowledgment. "He only saw what was best in you. So did Mary. That's how she'll remember you, if you heed my advice."

His lip curled in contempt. "As though a man like me should care how he's remembered."

I thought of Frank, poring over ancient documents for hours, trying to capture just a momentary glimpse of the man he knew as his ancestor. I quelled my outrage. Black Jack had done far more outrageous things. I stepped closer to him. "You should let the girl go."

"Should I? Can you make a more convincing case?"

I smiled. It's what a woman like me does when trapped in a situation with no way out save those that will make her hate herself. I forced myself to think of Mary--Frank's true ancestor, though I'd been so quick to forget it. This girl whose happiness I'd played away like an unimportant pawn. I owed her something. After all the pain and all the lies, I owed it to her to protect her. No matter what. "You won't bed Mary," I said slowly as I stepped toward him with great deliberation, "Because I have something that you want. Something that will bring you a good deal more pleasure than that girl."

His eyes narrowed. "You'll forgive my skepticism."

"Forgiven. I have the power to give you something that . . . you very much want. And only I can give it because only I know it."

His expression was now a bit more guarded. Cautious, as though he knew I was coming for what little soul he had left. "Go on."

"You don't want Mary. Not really. She represents weakness to you, and you've only ever been attracted to strength."

"I swear to God, woman, if you don't tell me what you mean I will cut your tongue out of your mouth."

I forced a laugh at that--an open-mouthed one. Ducking my head, I took a moment to step closer to him--to within arm's reach--before speaking again. "Don't you want to know what happened? After? All those long months between when you lost him and when you found him again in France. Haven't you ever wondered? In those lonely nights when you remembered the feel of his skin and wondered if he was remembering you too?" I paused for long moments, letting my words sink in. "That's my ransom, Jonathan Wolverton Randall. I was by his side the entire time. Let the girl go . . . and I will tell you exactly what you did to Jamie."

His breath left him in a slow hiss. He turned away from me and stared down into the ewer. "You seek to damn me, madam."

"Your soul was bound for hell long before I met you."

There was a feral snort and he turned to face me. I stood my ground. He advanced toward me with a wide stance. My hands clenched into fists, but I refused to flinch or turn away. He slowed a little and a faint smile lit his aristocratic features, as if he'd seen my inner panic and was deeply amused by it. He stepped past me and closed the door softly. The room was now illuminated only by moonlight, but it was enough to show the faint smile on his face. He offered me his arm, a mockingly courtly gesture. I took it and let him tow me over to the unmade bed. The candle on the bedside stand had at least an inch of wax left. He lit it with a bit of flint, took my hands, and drew me down to sit beside him. "Very well. And now, madam, you will tell me everything I wish to know. And at the end of it, I will judge whether you've given me enough to secure sweet Mary's release."

I smiled politely and did not withdraw my hands from his. "That's not how this works, my dear Captain. You will give me your word that you will let the girl leave freely. And then I will give you what you desire."

His hands tightened almost painfully and he glanced down. "Very well. If you prove true, you have my word."

"That's better." I tugged my hands from his and folded them primly on my lap. I stared at his face for long moments, forcing myself to note the lines of cruelty. I thought of Jamie. This was the worst sort of betrayal--to barter away his deepest anguish and fears to a man who would draw the worst sort of sadistic pleasure from them. If he knew, he would lose all faith in me. But, he was a practical man and I had become a practical woman. Knowing what I knew, the odds of Jamie ever encountering Black Jack Randall again were slim. No harm would come to him, and my betrayal of trust would die with its recipient. That was the cold comfort of being right after all this time.

I stared at Randall calmly. "It came true in the end, you know." Slowly, I stretched out a hand and brushed his shoulder with my knuckles. My hand settled at the base of his neck and slid down softly. "His scars. He'd never minded me touching them before."

I paused and swallowed old pain. I forced my voice to drop a half octave. "But after you . . . He couldn't get his mind off of them. The slightest touch would make him go pale. And soften."

I returned my hand to my lap. Jack was not meeting my gaze anymore. His eyes were cast downward and he was breathing in a very slow and controlled pattern. I continued. "I suppose you can imagine what the first few weeks were like. His hand was crushed. It took hours to reset and months to heal. While I pushed the bones back into place, he screamed your name and called down damnation on you and your descendants." I fell silent for long moments and let that silence be my accomplice in this wretched crime. "The bruises took three weeks to fade. He hated for me to see the ones on his hips, especially. He knew that _I_ knew what they meant."

My tongue locked of its own accord, but Black Jack stared at me. "Go on." I drew a deep breath and continued.

"He wanted to die for a long time. He said you had promised him that, and he felt cheated that we had robbed him of it by rescuing him. He stopped eating. We dared not allow him access to a blade. In time, though, I reminded him of his responsibility to me and he decided to stay." I left out my final, desperate intervention as well as the brand tossed in the fire to crisp. These truths would not please Black Jack, and I needed him to help me.

He stared at me with eyes that burned. "And?"

"When he was well again, we sailed for France. At first, I thought we would just pick up where we left off. I was with child. It was a new beginning and everything was hopeful once again. That didn't last, of course."

I delicately smoothed my skirts. "In public, he was free enough with his affection. He kissed me and I believed I was the only one in the world he would ever think of. He was tender, on account of the babe, and I thought he only thought of us."

My eyes had closed in reminiscence. He waited, politely, until I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Until I tried to lie with him."

Jack smiled, slow and tight.

"He didn't want to think about you. I knew that from the first moment. He never closed his eyes while he was kissing me. Perhaps he thought I'd vanish into thin air and he'd be left with you in my place. And every time I'd . . ." I fell silent, closed my eyes, and then reminded myself that I had to do this well if it was to mean anything at all. I made my voice drop a little further. "Every time I would touch him there, he would flinch. He pulled away. One moment his face would be lost in desire and the next his eyes would widen and a look of horror would come over him, as if he'd seen a ghost or a monster. And even at the brink of taking me, he would soften."

I paused for long moments, listening to Randall's shuddering breaths. He was enjoying this. "I was staring to despair of ever getting him back. Of ever feeling him in me again. And then . . ." I leaned forward and lowered my voice to a whisper. "And then I heard that you had survived. I feared to tell Jamie, but when I did, your face blazed bright in his mind's eye again. He told me . . ." I bent close to his waiting ear, "He told me it had given him something to hold onto. It had plagued him for months--the thought that you had died and he hadn't been there to see it. That he would never look into your face and see the blood flow from your body and watch you breathe your last."

I saw Jack's breath leave him in a silent hiss. I continued, my voice dropping still lower into a sultry tone. "We . . . he hadn't been capable for months. Every time we tried, I would somehow remind him of you and he couldn't continue. But, then he learned that he might still have the opportunity to kill you himself." My lips were so close they nearly brushed his ear. "And that night we had the best sex of our marriage. And all the while, he was imagining killing you."

I leaned back, slowly. I had said all I would say. Black Jack's breaths were coming in short, silent gasps. A glance down confirmed that my words were having their intended effect. I knew better than to fear that. He would never contaminate his memories of Jamie with something like me. After a moment, he became self-conscious and turned away. "You seek to damn me, madam."

"Yes," I said simply, "But I've held up my end of the bargain. Time for you to keep yours. I'm told you're a man of your word."

He breathed once, sharply, and then turned and grabbed my hand. I was too startled to resist as he brought it to him and drew it between his legs. He rubbed my hand against his hardness for long moments. I glared at him, refusing to show weakness by pulling my hand back. He did not look at me. His eyes were downcast and lost in memory. After a few tense moments, his face tightened and I felt the rush of warmth and wet that meant he'd gotten all he'd hoped to get.

Far from traumatized, I glared at him harder, and when he finally looked at me, his eyes held equal hate. "I suppose you've said all I wish to hear," he said after a moment, "Go then. Take the simpering bitch with you. And know that, however short or long, I will remember this night for the rest of my life."

I nodded, pulled my hand from his grasp, and rose, thankful that the voluminous petticoats hid my trembling knees.

"You seek my destruction." His voice stopped me. I turned.

"Yes."

"My whole wretched life, and you couldn't even let me have this. My brother died tonight and you . . ."

"I reminded you of what you are. What you've always been." I stared down at him, broken and wretched but still dangerous. "You can't escape what you are. None of us can."

"Go," he said flatly.

I went. I collected a still-hysterical Mary from the room next door. I drew a sheet gently over what remained of Alex's face. I dragged the girl with me out the door, across town, and to the only other inn with rooms available. I paid her board and hugged her and stroked her hair for a long time, telling her to think of Alex and all the good things he'd done.

None of it was enough to repay the evil I'd done in saving her.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is much appreciated.


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